


Smokestack Lightning

by Thoughts Like A Minefield (Incog_Ninja)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Doggy Style, F/M, Fingerfucking, Height Differences, Lingerie, Orgasm, Purple Prose, Sex Magic, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-06 02:29:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21219080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incog_Ninja/pseuds/Thoughts%20Like%20A%20Minefield
Summary: It’s been a long time coming, and the dam finally breaks.





	Smokestack Lightning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stunudo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stunudo/gifts).

> @stusbunker generously donated to Free Faith and I happily wrote her Samwena. (Or Samwitch, whichever you prefer.)

She is magnificent – magic personified, really. Sam knows why he didn’t appreciate her fragile beauty before now, but he wishes he could get that time back, to savor it.

She was a threat to them and to humanity. She was devious and power-hungry – or so he thought. In reality, Rowena was another victim in this world.

When Chuck tells you he likes you, it isn’t a good thing.

She spent centuries crafting and reinforcing a protective barrier around herself. She was killed by Lucifer himself, not once but twice. And then her son took his own life to save the world and she was forever changed.

The Winchesters have grown closer with Rowena as the most recent apocalypse draws near. She’s in this game now, wants to put an end to Michael as much as they all do. Sam knows, too, that her addition to their team has made them so much stronger.

Sometimes he wonders how in Hell he and Dean survived so long without her and Cas and Jack. Then he remembers that they didn’t actually survive in the strictest sense. He was stabbed by another child of Azazael and Dean was ripped apart by Hellhounds.

“Rowena, I’m not sayin’ it again,” Dean grumbles as he trudges into the kitchen with the witch on his heels.

“You don’t need to,” she replies. “I heard you the first time and reject it outright. You’re a bigot.”

Dean stops dead in his tracks and Rowena runs smack into his back.

“A bigot,” Dean echoes, incredulous as he turns to look down at the tiny redhead. “How does not inviting an entire coven of witches into my home make me a bigot?”

“Wait- what?” Sam asks.

“Now don’t you start, too, Samuel,” Rowena turns her attention to Sam.

“No, just…” Sam shakes his head. “What’re you talking about?”

“I was simply thinking aloud, brainstorming if you will, ways that we could further sequester the archangel in your brother’s mind and mentioned that more power might help.” Rowena shrugs and rolls her eyes.

Dean glares at her. “You said coven, Rowena. Tell him that part.”

“I may have said coven, but there are other ways to-”

“What’s the spell?” Sam asks, interrupting.

“The fuck, dude?” Dean turns his glare on his brother.

Sam shoots Dean a quieting look then encourages Rowena to continue.

“It’s simple, really, but likely temporary,” she divulges. “My thought was that the more _oomph_ we can put behind it the longer it might last and the stronger it will be.”

Sam nods.

“That can’t be bad,” she continues. “The spell isn’t specific to an archangel; it’s only a repression spell.”

“Do we have to be witches?” Sam asks.

Rowena arches a brow. “We?”

Sam spends the coming weeks learning more in-depth and powerful magic by Rowena’s side. She says he’s the best assistant she’s ever had. She tells him he’s a good boy, which makes him bristle before he finally softens at the playful spark in her eyes – she means it as a term of endearment, not condescension. Sam wouldn’t accept it from anyone else but her.

Sam starts to think about her when she isn’t there. He has conflicting thoughts. He honors Rowena for the woman she is and for the conscientious changes she’s made at her very core. He also thinks about how soft she looks and how powerful she really is. He begins to ponder just how much punch is in that tiny, fine package.

He begins to allow himself to think about her when he touches himself, pretends his large hand is her very small but capable hands. He calls to mind her glossy lips, her pink tongue. He digs deep into his mind to silence everything but the memorized sound of her coquettish brogue.

She calls him Samuel.

That does things to him.

Sam is anything but passive in bed. He’s even a little afraid of himself sometimes. After all, one of the most longest-lasting relationships he ever had was with a demon in a comatose girl’s body. In short, he can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to really be with her.

Does she think about him this way? Would she ever initiate something? Would she reject him if he did? If they did ever cross that line, what would stop them?

On their next project together, he gets his answer.

Rowena bats her eyelashes and flirts as usual. She purrs his name and strokes his hand with her dainty, pale fingers. She trills with laughter and calls him Samuel one last time before he’s had enough and dips in to take her lips with his.

Sam feels her tense then relax on a sigh beside him in the library chair that almost swallows her whole. She turns into the kiss, slides her arms around his neck and hums. That’s when Sam seizes the opportunity and pulls Rowena into his lap, her knees slotting astride his hips. Her gasp is dramatic and demure and very much a put on. She knows how to play this game, to play into what Sam’s laying out.

“Samuel.” She acts surprised while her eyes and her lips demand more.

“No more games, Rowena,” Sam says, locking his hands on her hips. “We’re both above it.”

“Well, then,” she says, then her eyes flare and she ducks in for his lips.

They don’t stop kissing as they each explore gently but not too tentatively the new to them territories of the other. Rowena curls her fingers around the placards of the open neck of his flannel and yanks, reminding him of a moment mere months before when she had him bound in a different chair in a different place. But that moment is longer ago in space considering how far they’ve come.

After long moments, Rowena pulls back and looks him in the eye. Sam discovers then that her lips must just be naturally shiny and cherry blossom pink because she looks like she hasn’t been kissed the way he was just kissing her.

“What’s going to happen here, Samuel?” she asks, serious this time, no play-acting; but she isn’t going anywhere, either, so Sam takes another step.

He stands, and she gasps for real this time, as he strides toward his bedroom. Rowena holds on tight, studies his features up close with fingertips and eyes. She wonders aloud how it’s taken them so long to get to even just here, and Sam chuckles.

“Well,” he starts as he opens his door. “What’s passed is in the past.” He kicks the door shut behind him and crosses the room to set her on the foot of his bed. Then he slowly lowers himself to kneel at her feet.

“Now, I _do_ like this,” she says quietly, tucking a swath of hair behind his ear. Her smile turns thoughtful and she tilts her head. “We have grown quite fond of each other, haven’t we?”

Sam slides his hands from her knees up to her hips, bunching the silk of her long skirt a bit as he goes. He nods. “More than, I think,” he answers just as quietly.

He leans into her and takes her lips again. She doesn’t move an inch – no instinct to shrink from the mass of man coming at her – until they’re mouth to mouth. Then she loops her arms around his neck and licks into him with great deliberation.

Sam wedges himself between her spread knees and intentionally begins to heft her skirt up, slide his hands under the material. She’s as smooth as the fabric and he lets himself loose in the sensation.

“You are truly stunning,” Sam mutters, moving his mouth to her neck and jaw. He curls his fingers around her hips, feels the silk of her panties, too, and sighs. “Stunning.”

Rowena wraps her thigh-high covered legs around him and pulls him in, scoots her hips forward to connect with him as she lays back.

Rowena cups his jaw as he kisses her. “Don’t be too careful,” she whispers into his ear, and he can _feel_ the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

“No?” he asks, hovering over her, vibrating.

She holds his gaze and shakes her head slowly, keenly.

“Good,” he says, and he pushes up from the bed, dragging her with him. “Let’s get this dress off you and see what’s underneath.”

Rowena titters in delight, they paw at each other’s clothes and kiss in between. It really has been a long time coming, but the opportunity simply hadn’t presented itself. The time is now.

Garments fly and hair is pulled. They each grunt and laugh. Rowena’s more playful than he anticipated, but he’s prepared for that to change on a dime.

Once they’re each down to their underclothes – Rowena in a particularly exquisite ensemble – Sam slows things down to appreciate the moment. He steps back a couple of paces and looks her down and up.

“Turn around,” he orders, and she hums and lets her eyelashes flutter.

She turns slowly, and Sam takes in the smooth, fitted bodice the flare of her hips, her china doll skin peeking above her garters. That peaches and cream analogy is no joke.

When she’s facing him again, he tells her to stop and come to him. She smirks and saunters toward him, her heels clicking on the concrete floor. “My turn now,” she says. “Sit.”

Sam grants her a wry smile as he takes a seat on the foot of the bed. Rowena walks between his knees, takes his face in her hands and kisses him before turning her back and beginning a dance of sorts.

Sam watches and listens to her breathing. She encourages him to use his hands to touch her. As she dips and sways between his thighs, Sam unties bows and releases hooks, slowing exposing her creamy curves.

She shakes her bright copper hair to tumble down her back, and Sam can’t stop himself from twining it around his wrist and fist.

He pulls and twists until she’s draped across his lap and he’s kissing her again, leading their dance by the back of her head. Then his free hand slides up and around her bare thigh and between her legs to cup her.

He pulls back and looks her in the eyes as he slips his fingertips along her slick opening.

Rowena sighs and grips his wrist. “I know you can do better than that, Samuel,” she says, egging him on.

Sam shakes his head and slips two fingers inside her, crooks them. She nods, _more_.

And he gives it to her.

Soon he’s fucking her rough and fast with one hand between her legs and the other holding her upper body aloft by her siren waves. Her bare chest is heaving, pink nipples hard as diamonds. Sam dives in to lave and suck at them as she grinds against his hand, gritting her teeth. She’s speaking a language that Sam doesn’t understand – guttural and deep.

He can feel the magic flowing through her, through him, when she comes, back rigid and mouth agape. Her cry is indecipherable to him and equally alluring. He flips them and shifts her to her hands and knees on the bed, his hands roam her body in a delicious frenzy, a search for _the spot_.

“Take me, Samuel,” she whispers over her shoulder, a sheen of sweat on her brow and shoulders.

Sam slows, stands to his full height and pushes his boxer briefs to the floor before folding over her, fully enveloping her in himself. He finds his way inside her, holds her as she seeks sanctuary in him. They are having each other this way – complete and whole.

“Never,” Sam seethes before pulling a mouthful of her skin between his teeth.

“So good,” she groans under him, from inside his heavy shell. “So _full_.”

That emboldens Sam. Rowena is centuries old. She claims that there’s a fifth base, for fuck’s sake. If he can get her to react in any way positively to his prowess, he feels like he’s made it. So he keeps working on her second orgasm.

“Can’t wait to feel you come on my cock,” he growls once he lets go of her skin from his jaws.

Sam grips one of her hips and plows into her from behind, angles upward, deeper. Her thighs shake every time he lands and her back arches. He slides his other hand from coccyx to cervical spine, pushes her face into the mattress, and she takes it with sounds of glee and heat.

“That’s right, dear boy,” she breathes. “Fuck me right there, take what you want.”

“Come on,” Sam begs, out of breath and grunting. “Come on my cock.”

“Yes,” she answers, nodding against the bedding, tears spilling from her eyes. “Yes, Sam!”

And they both come in blinding white. Sam knows he feels the earth move, hears the groaning of the foundation of the Men of Letters’ bunker.

But he doesn’t care to think about that right now as he collapses next to her, hooking an arm around her waist and dragging her giggling form with him.


End file.
